


Exploit(ation)s

by VenusInCancer



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: AU ish but maybe just canon divergent, Angst, Canon Cherrypicking, Canon Divergence, Canon Typical Violence is the same as Graphic Depictions of Violence in this fandom so..., Canon burned Kabal, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Implied Sexual Content, Kabal's canon injuries mentioned, M/M, MK Canon Melting Pot, MK3 canon Kabal but also new canon Kabal, Mutual Pining, No revenants here, Pining, Swearing, all your Kabals are belong to me too, all your canons are belong to me, strykabal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusInCancer/pseuds/VenusInCancer
Summary: Elements from all canons, but banks on original canon in that Kabal was a bad guy until the Extermination Squad attack, only choosing to fight for the side of good after that. (Until the 3D era, but I digress.) So, he was never SWAT alongside Stryker. But what if they still crossed paths before the Outworld Invasion? And during it. Eventual Stryker/Kabal.Snarky Kabal redemption, plus Stryker, if you will.Whispers of other MK3-era characters, but they're barely there, at best. Canon cherrypicking, but I mean? Don't have a billion versions of canon if you don't want me doing that, NRS.
Relationships: Kabal/Kurtis Stryker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	Exploit(ation)s

**Author's Note:**

> I love this ship. It consumes and infuriates me, though. So, welcome to the clusterfuck of my affection for Stryker/Kabal, and wanting to write it, but in a way that acknowledges Kabal has some demons. MK9 told us of Kabal's past, but didn't show it. Showing his redemption during the game would've been really cool, IMO. The MK11 retcon is just crap, but his aesthetic is wonderful.  
> This is basically trash, but I needed to get it out of my system.  
> Trying not to under or overdo the tags, esp with regard to violence. There isn't much (or I'm just desensitized af) and it's MK. Canon Typical Violence covers just about everything, no?

It's not the kind of bar a cop should be hanging out in. It says a hell of a lot more about _this guy_ than Kabal. Or so Kabal's gonna keep lying to himself, because he's the one attracted to the cop knocking back shots in a bar _everyone_ knows belongs to the Black Dragon.

The guy's obviously not working. Off the clock or not, he just _reeks_ of goodness, and purpose, and sex appeal, and _fuck_. What Kabal means is the chance that he's even attempting something undercover is pretty slim.

It's clear he just wants to disappear. Maybe get into some shit _off the job_ to make up for some shit that happened _on the job_.

It's more relatable than it should be.

Of course he picked a place he's likely to get into a fight.

Unless that's his angle. Some hiding in plain sight kind of shit. Like that's gonna work. Maybe if he didn't just scream _hero_. Kabal wouldn't mind making him scream something else.

_Ugh._

So far, though, everyone else is avoiding him. Either because they're all punks and decided 'hell no' after getting one look at those arms, those pecs. How that t-shirt of his looks like it's painted on, it's so damn tight. Or maybe it's that they saw Kabal sit down right next to him and figured he's got it covered.

_He's got it._

Covered, though? Well, that's another story.

* * *

Everything after the guy skips out in the middle of the night is sort of a blur. If the tables were turned—the _who's who_ of it all flipped around—Kabal would swear he's been slipped something and this is all just a bad trip.

The weirdest, baddest fucking trip.

He didn't just wake up alone, because he isn't careless enough to fall asleep in bed with a cop in the first place.

Okay, so Kabal obviously woke up alone. But for the right reasons.

Woke up alone, because he went to bed alone and he sure as shit hasn't just stumbled outside to see the sky stuck somewhere between yesterday and today. To see the purple of the night before and the orange of the next day trying desperately to pull away from one another. Everything's bleeding together, but not blending, as some whooshing, warbling, swirling hole appears out of nowhere.

Then some _thing_ with stripes and four arms steps through the hole and is setting Kabal on fire before he can so much as reach for his hookswords. 

* * *

There's straps and chains. Shelves, tables—and not just the one Kabal's bound to. Some shit that looks like a row of stasis tanks. Half are broken and bloodstained, _all_ are empty.

Kano's here, wherever, _whatever_ this place is.

Maybe it's Hell.

_He was on fire._

Could definitely be Hell.

Wherever it is, it's definitely not Earth.

Kano fondles around Kabal's neck a bit; he's attaching a fucking respirator. Then he jerks Kabal's head upright and tightens the straps on a mask that has nothing to do with the respirator, but _everything_ to do with the damage that makes them both necessary. Kabal can feel Kano working, but he also can't. More like, he's aware of the absence of feeling and the addition of numbness. Tingling, where there should be pain.

_Take it off._

Kano doesn't. Says it's permanent.

He's lying about the mask. It's obvious what he means, though.

He removes the restraints.

Kabal's arms, now that he can see them, are wrecked, and he knows every bit of skin that was burned looks at least this bad.

_He's a freak._

Kano must want him back in the fight, ASAP, because he hands over Kabal's hookswords. Tells him to give 'em a whirl.

Only—

Kano doesn't want Kabal up and at 'em to go after the four-armed, walking flamethrower that did this to him. Wants him working with it. Because _Kano_ is. With the thing's boss, anyway. Somehow, Kabal's not that surprised. The _selling_ part of selling out is all Kano's ever been concerned with.

He's gonna give his hookswords a whirl, alright.

* * *

The other survivors matter. They make sense, at least. As much sense as a crew gathered by a dude who manifested out of lightning claiming to be a thunder god does, anyway.

Shaolin monks, who seem more curious about Kabal's weapon choice than anything else about him.

A shaman, impressed with Kabal's speed. Seems to know it's unnatural—supernatural, even—but thinks it's to be treated as a gift. Least he respects it might also be a burden.

Hollywood royalty, who says he, 'digs the mysterious, masked vigilante thing'. Says it's got summer blockbuster written all over it. In the right hands.

 _Actual_ royalty. Immortal deposed princesses and their immortal bodyguards, come to assist the mere humans. More like, they're trying to keep Earthrealm from getting steamrolled like their homeland has been. Homeland, home world, home _realm_ —whatever.

Special Forces elite. Kabal can only imagine what they'd do if they knew what was behind his mask. If they knew _he_ was behind his mask.

Kill him? Or grill him? Well, been there, done that. The _grilling_ part, at least.

Then there's _him._ Blue eyes, blond hair. Lips that are stuck somewhere between smirking and pouting. Righteousness just oozing from his pores. He's wearing a tactical vest now, but it's clear he's as ripped as he ever was. Well, it's not like enough time has passed for a guy's body to go to hell.

_Hah._

And back.

In any case, it's a face Kabal didn't think he'd ever see again. Oh, and Kabal's seen much more of him than his _face_ , but nobody, including him, needs to know that.

Including him? Try: especially him.

They're shaking hands and he's introducing himself as, “Kurtis Stryker.”

Well, now there's a name to go with the one-night-stand.

“Kabal.” Anticipating being asked more—being asked _for_ more—he adds, “ _Just_ Kabal.”

“Good to know you, just Kabal.” This _Kurtis Stryker_ sort of smirks when he says it, too, whatever the fuck _that's_ about.

It's not lost on Kabal that he didn't say 'nice to meet you'.

Eh, it's probably not.

“Likewise...?”

Kurtis? Stryker? Neither seems right. Kurtis seems way too formal, and calling the dude by last name, considering they've fucked, is even weirder. Not that _he_ has any clue.

“Kurt's fine.”

“Okay.”

Just when Kabal thinks the conversation is over, Kurt muses, “I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

Kabal snorts, “Guess I just have one of those faces.”

Kurt _laughs_. He doesn't cut himself off, or apologize for being amused by such a shit joke, and one made in such poor taste.

They just might get along after all. It's a shame the one thing that could ever happen between them already has.

* * *

“You don't wear that mask all the time.” Kurt's making an observation, rather than asking a question. Talking to himself. Thinking out loud.

Putting his ogling to words without realizing.

Nah. Kurt clearly knows what the fuck he's doing and doesn't care. His needling, though—it's as incessant as it is unnecessary.

Kabal just mutters, “You're right, I take it off to shit.”

Kurt pretends he's not amused. Hell, he's probably not pretending. He's monotone, “Well, I figured you have to take it off to eat and drink, but thanks for the extra info.”

“Take _everything_ off.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine. You made your point.”

“Except my socks.”

Now Kurt narrows his eyes. “You're a real piece of work.”

“Maybe grab a book.”

Kurt's practically fucking squinting now, he's so annoyed. He mutters, “Forget piece of work. You're just an asshole.”

“Turn down the lights.”

Kurt perks up, like he's had an idea, or a revelation. “Wouldn't that make it too dark to read?”

Well, well, fucking well. Isn't he clever? That's some real good detective work, not that Kabal's gonna compliment him on it.

Kabal does concede, “Okay, fine. You got me.” Then he tilts his head to the side and asks, “This image you're trying to make of me—what's it for?”

Kurt shrugs. But then he very obviously grins. It's not because he's amused, though. He's using it to try and cover suspicion. “Remind me what you did before?”

_Yeah, right._

They both know damn well Kurt has never asked shit about any part of Kabal's past and that Kabal's never offered it up.

Kabal just plays along, guessing, “Before...? Before the apocalypse?”

“Sure. Whatever you wanna call _this_.”

Kabal grins now, too, not that Kurt has any idea. He huffs, “I worked in collections.” It's almost true.

Kurt whistles, quick and sharp. He's looking damn smug when he remarks, “Didn't realize that was such a dangerous line of work.”

“Like you're one to talk.” The words are out of Kabal's mouth before he realizes what he's said.

Kurt squints. Purses his lips. It's self-satisfied, his expression. “I never told you what I do—”

_Fuck._

Although, Kabal had him pegged as 5-0 the moment he saw him. It was just longer ago than Kurt realizes. It's only been days, but it seems like a lifetime ago. Still— “Sure you did. Just not in words. You're a cop.”

“SWAT,” Kurt half-assedly corrects. “But yeah. You're right. _Ding ding ding_.”

“What do I win?”

“Two tickets to purgatory.”

“Pretty sure we're already there.”

“Hey, make me a deal?” Kurt calls out, suddenly. There's something pleading in his tone, like he's trying to peel away enough layers to get to some part of Kabal that isn't too damaged to bother with.

Kabal's voice is thick with suspicion. “What kind of deal?”

“When this is over, you take off the mask.”

It's not like they're gonna survive, anyway. Even if they do, it's pretty unlikely Kurt's gonna recognize him. Realize they've met before. Way more than met. But also less than. So Kabal just chuckles and agrees, “Deal.”

* * *

It's sort of like being on the right side of a two-way mirror, Kabal thinks. Catching Kurt gawking at him and just sitting back and waiting for him to realize the jig is up.

Kurt plays it off relatively well, saying only, “Seen respirators before.” Must make him feel like there's some sense of purpose, some meaning behind all the _looking at nothing_ he's been doing.

More like _looking for something in nothing_ and refusing to blink, or turn away, no matter how many goose eggs he turns up.

To his credit, Kurt's on-the-spot answer is probably true. In his line of work, it makes sense he's seen teammates injured badly enough to be on a ventilator in the hospital. What he's talking about is temporary stuff, though. Whoever he knew that was on a respirator came off of it. Either they recovered and didn't need a machine helping 'em breathe anymore, or they were never going to recover and—yeah.

 _Temporary_ stuff.

“Okay, you've seen a respirator before. So?” Kabal knows he sounds suspicious. Figures he's got a right to be, so he's sure not gonna tone it down.

It's something between an explanation and an admission when Kurt offers, “Never seen a rig quite like yours, though.”

It's obvious what Kurt's getting at.

_Portable. Piecemeal._

Kabal deflects with, “It's custom.” He's had some practice answering without giving anything up—giving anything away. This isn't his first time going one-on-one with a cop.

Isn't his first time going one-on-one with _this_ cop. Only, this time, Kabal means professionally.

It's clear Kurt's trying to sound unaffected when he offers, “I bet it's custom.”

They both know that's a hell of a way of putting it. Black market is another.

Kabal chuckles, but he's not amused. Okay, maybe he's a little amused. Curious, anyway. “Something on your mind?”

Kurt's eyes are darting around. Up and down, left and right. He's not trying to avoid eye contact, though. He's trying to make it. He finally gives up, because _duh_ , and spits out, “If that thing needs repairs? Needs replaced?”

“What the hell does it matter?”

_To him?_

Kurt sounds frustrated, worn out, when he says, “In case you hadn't noticed, things are pretty rough.”

“I noticed.”

He needlessly adds, “Pretty crazy.”

“Noticed that, too.”

Kurt just keeps piling shit on, like Kabal isn't in the middle of it all, too. “Thunder Gods and Chosen Ones. Invaders from other realms. Other realms, period.”

_Four-armed, fire-breathing assholes._

“You think I need a lesson of some sort?” Kabal finally asks.

“Just saying—” Kurt shakes his head. Only once and it's jerky. Like he's trying to knock some thought loose, but keep it close, at the same time. “It's the first thing an enemy will go for.”

The idea that Kabal's worthy of being considered even a potential Chosen One is pretty suspect, but he can damn well hold his own in a fight.

Always could.

Still can.

Just ask Kano.

Kabal guesses, “So what you're _just saying_ is I'm a liability?”

_To him._

Kurt doesn't back down, but there's something in his tone. Guilt and softness, wariness and weariness, all wrapped up together. He tries to put on a real professional front when he insists, “Any foe worth his salt is gonna look for a weakness to exploit.”

Kabal's testy, bitchy, even though he agrees, “Well, no shit.”

Kurt continues, “That's _your_ weakness and it makes you _mine._ ”

Kabal asks, “How the hell do you figure?” Doesn't even try hiding that he's offended.

“Makes you _everyone's_ weakness.”

“Yeah, I don't anticipate anyone swooping in to save me.” The taste of Kabal's words can't be off his tongue fast enough, for how _true_ they are.

Except—

It's exactly what happened. The one time when it shouldn't have.

Kabal tries shrugging it off, but it's stiff and heavy, because it's forever his own shit he's trying to shake. His past is still wrapped around him like a straight-jacket and he was just too stupid to keep his arms up and out when he was being strapped in.

Kurt raises both hands. He means it to be placating, but the gesture comes off as defensive, too. It's not surprising. What else is he gonna do? Admit he gives a shit? Not even if he did, which he doesn't.

“Forget I said anything. You wanna get yourself killed—don't say I didn't warn you. But keep the casualties to just you, okay.”

Two can play at defensive. Kabal just doesn't mix it with appeasement when he does it. He sharply refuses, “Not a chance.”

Kurt seems genuinely stunned. “Excuse me?”

Kabal sighs into trying to settle things between them. Into something meant to be a peace offering. Or at least a crumb of _let's just drop it_. “I won't go risking your ass, don't worry. But I'm damn well gonna take down the thing that did this to me on my way out.”

“Hold on—” Kurt doesn't look so stunned anymore. Not _just_ stunned, at least. “You're talking like you were _just—_ ”

_Barbecued?_

“I mean, this didn't just happen to you.” Kurt's not asking. What's more, he sounds like it means something to him. Like it's set something off inside of him. Flipped some switch or something. He's breathless, murmuring, “It can't have.”

It's obvious what Kurt's thinking, now that he knows how fresh Kabal's wounds are. He's right to think that anyone burned so badly, so recently, would still be in the hospital. If the person even survived. Wrapped up like the fucking mummy and _doped up_ on every opioid under the sun. Covered in bandages, instead of scars.

Makes Kabal's skin crawl, knowing he'd be dead if it wasn't for Kano and that freaky witch doctor, Shang Tsung, he kept going on about. It's unspoken—until now, at least—that Kabal's been brought back from somewhere _beyond_ the brink, and put back together with sorcery and scrap metal.

* * *

It starts small—an imperfect circle—and gets bigger and bigger. Grows wider and _louder._ Because Kabal can feel it in his eardrums—the sharpness, the pressure—as the circle spreads.

It's a portal, he knows that much. He hopped into one to get the hell away from Kano and _his_ new friends. He also knows this portal didn't just open for no reason. Someone, or something will be stepping through it, soon enough.

He just never would've expected it to be _that thing_. As much as Kabal boasted about wanting revenge, he never really thought he'd have a shot. He's not sure he does, even now.

His name is Kintaro and he's impressed Kabal's still alive. He knows Shang Tsung had a hand in that, so he'll pass his compliments on, along with word that Kabal's been killed for good.

It's nothing personal; all of Earthrealm's chosen warriors are an impediment to the Emperor's plans and must die.

Shao Kahn will be most pleased to know two more have fallen.

_Not a chance._

Two might fall here, but _Kurt's_ not gonna be one of them.

Kurt's drawing his gun and trying to slyly catch Kabal's attention. He's trying to sound muted, insisting, “We need a plan.”

Kabal just scoffs, “Don't get burned?”

Kurt's equally huffy and dismissive, muttering, “Yeah, that's not much of a plan.”

“It's more of one than I had before.”

It's on Kurt's face, something like horror. Because it's mixed with realization. He doesn't say anything, but he knows. He found out how recently Kabal was wrecked—got real fucking weird right after. Now he knows what did it, too.

Kintaro throws his shoulders back and there's something almost familiar about it. He's revving up for something. Kabal knows damn well what's coming next, when Kintaro opens his mouth. This time he's quick enough to get both himself _and Kurt_ the hell out of the way.

Kabal's fluid and fast and it's nice to feel competent—battle-worthy. But it's not right. He's too fluid, too fast, and he can't help but wonder if the energy pulsing through him is really his own.

Kurt looks _livid_ , clutching his ribs with one hand and he's got a death grip on his gun with the other. It isn't just that he had the wind knocked out of him, either. That he had no time to brace for being tackled and whisked away from the fight at light speed.

If there was time for it, it'd be really fucking funny. It's obvious Kurt's mad because he's not used to being on the receiving end of, well, _anything_.

Kabal can testify to that.

Keeping this Kintaro prick from scorching the both of them, though, it's not heroics. Whatever it is, they're both way outta their element. Kabal's never been the one to offer anyone any kind of favors and Kurt's not used to needing any.

He's SWAT, though. It's a team gig, right? Kurt being so pissed and just plain surprised by a gesture of goodwill—it's pretty fucked up.

He's already on his feet and stomping toward Kintaro. Stomping and _shooting._

Impulsive shit.

So much for having a plan.

Kurt's bullets are landing, and sticking, but he might as well be firing blanks. Kintaro's barely reacting to any of it. He casts a flippant glance down at his left pectoral, where the first shot landed, and barely eked out a drop of blood, then he sneers back up at Kurt.

So Kabal zaps toward Kintaro, ahead of, and _away from_ Kurt.

Raises his hookswords above his head and clangs them together. The message should be clear: _Come and get it._ But mostly: _Stay the fuck away from Kurt._

Kabal's weapon is plenty sharp, and he's never been afraid to cut deep. To twist, and turn, to slice, and snag, and hook, at every angle. But it's sort of like trying to cut through leather with a plastic knife.

Kabal can see it, though. Every twinge, and twitch, as Kintaro takes a hit he isn't quick enough to dodge, or just plain _doesn't see coming._ Every pissed off growl, accompanying a slash to his blindside, while he's reacting to a gunshot. A gunshot, while he's trying to keep track of whether Kabal's in front of or behind him.

Still, it feels like they've done everything this side of rip Kintaro's head clean off. Although, for as many rounds as Kurt has fired off, and for as sure Kabal is that each one has been a hit, there's something he _doesn't_ see: exit wounds.

 _Good_.

It's about the only thing that has him convinced they might actually be making a dent. There's no way this many bullets and cuts aren't doing at least some damage. Put enough holes in anything and it'll leak. Lose enough air—especially hot air—and you sink.

Still, Kabal's only got until Kurt's out of ammo before they're both in trouble.

 _Before_ they're in trouble?

It was bound to happen at some point.

Kurt's reloading and Kintaro's opening his mouth again.

If he's gonna light someone up? Or pound, or stomp them? He's at least gonna be real fucking tired by the time he gets to Kurt.

Kabal dashes behind Kintaro. Hooks him by the mouth. Tugs. Kintaro hardly budges, though.

That's fine. They're _hookswords_. Plural. A set. So Kabal snags the other side of Kintaro's mouth.

Plants a foot into his back.

Pulls. Then, when there's no give, pulls _harder._

It's a wet, slick, ripping sort of sound, at first. An uneven kind of tug-of-war that knocks Kabal on his ass once Kintaro gives. More like, once the top of his head separates from the bottom half, and it's too much momentum and zero resistance.

It's like some shit out of a B movie, the way the blood shoots upward. A poorly timed, poorly executed eruption, then Kintaro falls over dead.

Kurt's up on Kabal, holstering his gun, looking him up and down, for injuries, damage. To make sure none of the blood Kabal's wearing is his own. That his weaknesses haven't been too severely exploited and all that.

Kurt offers his hand.

“You okay?” Kurt does pretty well to sound like he's just appropriately concerned, but there's something calculated about his tone, too. Sort of like scrutiny put to music.

Kabal tentatively accepts Kurt's hand. Allows himself to be pulled upright by another burst of too much momentum. At least it's someone else's this time.

Then the music stops, with a loud, abrupt scratch that cuts all the way across the record. There's only one seat and they can't sit together. Kurt lets go, as he asks, “First time you killed someone?”

Kabal knows better than to think he's only being grilled because he handled himself so well in the fight.

It's clear what Kurt's actually asking: _Just how many notches are carved into those hookswords?_

The real question is why.

 _Why_ is he asking, and why _now_?

* * *

There's no telling if shit's actually over. _Really_ over. How long it'll stay over, more like.

Everyone who lived through Shao Kahn's barely-failed conquest gets to keep on living. But nobody who died is coming back. The damage has been done, and it just leaves things real empty. Open, and not in a good way. Torn and stretched, like a gaping wound that won't ever fully close over. Cracked and crumbling, in ways that make it real hard to apply any kind of a fix.

Like trying to stitch a fault line.

Still, everyone's holding fast to the hope that the worst is behind them. Makes sense, as trashed as everything is right now. Nobody really wants to think on how things might never get any better and could very easily go to hell again.

Kabal finds that much easier to believe. Just not real inspiring.

It's premature, but it's also long overdue. It's his own fingers in his hair but they feel foreign.

Kurt's rightfully wary, asking, “What are you doing?”

“We had a deal.”

“You don't have to—”

“Yeah, I do.”

Taking the mask off is sort of like losing a bunch of heat Kabal didn't realize he was retaining. Feeling the air hit, all at once, with nothing to shield it. Feeling the _cold_. Because that's the look on Kurt's face. His eyes are zipping around, taking note of the damage. He's shocked, for about half a second, but then his expression turns _smug_ , almost.

Kurt lies, “It's not that bad.”

 _Bullshit_.

Kurt's expression is fading. Into just... _nothing_. A flat-line where there should be a grin; a drab, foggy sort of gray, where there's usually piercing blue. He looks like he won something he worked really hard at, only to find out the prize sucked.

Well, play shitty games. Or just play with shitty people.

Kurt's not even pissed that he was duped. The way he's trying to cover it up is like this isn't all that new to him, but he knows he's supposed to react like it is. Sort of like showing up to the surprise party he never wanted and saw coming a mile away. 

“It's really not that bad. _I still recognize you_.” His voice is strained, almost wounded, when he asks, “So, why'd _you_ pretend not to recognize _me_?”

Kabal's too aware that Kurt can see his every expression again. His _everything_. He rolls his eyes anyway.

Because, seriously? Crook, plus cop, equals really fucking strange bedfellows. It's kind of a no-brainer.

Kurt suddenly insists, “Forget it.” He's working real hard to maintain that even-tempered, keep-the-peace, nice guy bullshit. “Let's just drop it. You didn't do anything wrong.”

Well, that's a crock. The last few days aside, Kabal's entire life has revolved around doing nothing but wrong.

But Kurt's so bitter, so down on himself, when he repeats, “You didn't do anything wrong. _You_ did everything right.” It makes no sense, but he believes what he's saying.

It's the truth, and it's some shitty attempt at levity, when Kabal murmurs, “Never been accused of that before.”

Kurt insists, “ _I_ never wanted to see _you_ again, either.” He snorts. But then it softens into something almost like a sigh. “Until I did. Or thought I had.”

“And now? That you actually have?” Kabal's hyper aware of his own eyes. Every movement they make, canvassing Kurt's face, and how desperate and pleading they must look.

“Now I need to know if that thing really was the first time— _the only time_ —you've killed somebody.”

“Why? So you can turn me over to SF, all nice and neat?”

“Probably _should_ turn you over to Briggs and Blade. Let them sort it out.” Kurt laughs. It's a pissed off, rough chuckle, though. “Or give you a head start to run. Not that you need it.”

“Okay, so what do you want from me? To beg you not to?”

“Shouldn't want anything from you.” Kurt pauses. Amends the statement, “I _want_ an excuse. But I need the truth.”

Kabal's irritated, just being asked. Half-ass asked. It's even worse that Kurt's got actual cause for wondering, though. They both know Kurt's also got zero to gain from playing nice, at this point. Kabal tries to sound flat, unaffected, as he explains, “Dead people don't pay. Almost dead people, on the other hand—”

Kurt nods. Seems thoughtful. Relieved, even. He's not happy, by any means, but something about his expression— He looks like he's found something he can work with, whatever the hell that's about. Kurt presses, “So, that's a no?”

“Yeah, it's a no. I've never killed anyone. Unless someone I fucked up croaked later. What do you even care if you're not gonna turn me in?”

“Told you. I want an excuse.”

“For?”

“You.”

Kabal actually laughs. His timing's terrible, but at least half of this is on Kurt for saying funny shit at the worst possible moment. “Well, get in line.”

“I don't want an excuse _for_ you,” Kurt corrects himself. Corrects them both. Then adds, “Want one for how I feel about you.”

“Can't help you.” It's flippant, toneless, Kabal's reply. At least, he means for it to be.

He's not trying to be an asshole. For one, he doesn't have to try. What's more, he really thinks it's true; Kabal knows he's damn near irredeemable. But Kurt just won't quit. Won't give up.

Kurt agrees, “Yeah, I know. That's the problem.”

He just won't give up.

Even worse, Kabal doesn't want him to.

* * *

“You put the mask back on.” Kurt sounds disappointed, and he isn't doing shit to hide it.

“Well, I only ever took it off for you, so—” Kabal isn't exactly floundering, but what the hell else is he gonna say?

He supposes he could've lied. Didn't cross his mind to do that until now, though.

“Really?” Now Kurt sounds honored? Impressed? Embarrassed?

Confused is probably the best way to describe it. Works for both of them, so why not?

Kabal's not lying when he says, “We had a deal.” It's just nowhere near the whole truth.

“Didn't realize the Black Dragon were so honorable.”

“We aren't. _I_ just don't like leaving shit undone.”

“And now that it's done?” Kurt wonders.

“We both quit pretending it's not.”

There's no reason they ever should've met in the first place, and no chance for anything to come of it that already hasn't.

No reason for them ever to have hooked up, and no way they can ever do anything more than that. Hell, even doing that again is asking an awful lot.

Too much.

Because they matter now, to each other.

There's zero denying Kabal has feelings for Kurt stronger than just, 'I don't totally hate this dude'. What's worse, he's shown them, and he's pretty sure it's mutual.

It'd be so much better if it wasn't. If Kabal could just be the dumb fuck who fell for someone he could never have, because Kurt sees him for exactly what he is, and rightfully wants nothing to do with him.

Kurt sees everything, alright. But he's not swayed. He's like one of those fucking clowns that keeps getting hit but won't just stay down. No matter how many times Kabal tells him— _shows_ him—what a piece of shit he is, Kurt gets right back in his face, ready for more.

“What are you gonna do now? Where are you gonna go?” Kurt's somewhere between curious and tentative; he both wants to know and doesn't.

“Can't go back to the Black Dragon.”

“You regret that?” Kurt sounds way too fucking hopeful, asking that.

It's not an _Aha!_ moment or any dumb shit like that, but Kabal means it when he answers, “No. I _don't_.”

“Then are you disappointed?” Kurt's still hopeful, but it's laced with something else. An ulterior motive, wrapped in tact.

He's trying to pinpoint something. Settle on something. So he can make a decision. More like, justify what he's already decided without knowing enough of the facts.

It's more numbing to Kabal than liberating, confessing, “I'm not anything.”

He really isn't.

Kurt's sort of wistful, musing, “Oh, you're something, alright.”

“Yeah, that doesn't sound like a compliment.”

Kurt's somber, almost seminar-like, as he offers, “It isn't always foes exploiting our weaknesses.”

Kabal nods. It makes sense. Too much fucking sense. “You can say that again.”

Kabal can imagine feeling, well enough, where he knows there's touch. Fingertips in his hair, as a few strands catch on the straps, while Kurt loosens his mask.

No telling if it'll stay off this time. Only that it's in Kurt's hands right now.

**Author's Note:**

> I love that MK9 canon introduced me to the idea of Stryker/Kabal, but so much of Kabal's story in that game sits super weird with me. My excuse for this is that MK9 says Stryker is cool with Kabal's dark past. Which has devolved into 'my headcanon says Stryker is cool with Kabal's dark present as it becomes his past, up to and including semi-anonymous sex that blossoms into a beautiful relationship.'  
> I can up the “character death” tag to “major character death” if necessary. Honestly wasn't sure about where that all fell in. Didn't want to oversell it, but also didn't want to go “major character death, but it's cool because it's not actually anyone important”. Hell, new timeline basically off-screen death'd Kintaro by killing him in the comic, rather than in a game, and it's still better than how they did Motaro.


End file.
